


I know my kingdom awaits

by Calex



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calex/pseuds/Calex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mark falls ill, he can always rely on Wardo to look after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I know my kingdom awaits

**Author's Note:**

> Pointless bit of h/c fluff I decided to write because I got bored and I'm ill and stuck in bed.

Mark feels like someone’s stuffed cotton into his head and up his nostrils, and decided to go over his throat with a brillo pad. He’s drowsy, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get the sleep that his body is demanding. Instead, he basically feels like death warmed over would be an improvement, eyes itchy and dry and nose running like a leaky faucet. Crumpled tissues are piled up on his floor and in his overflowing bin, and he feels too hot and too cold in equal turns.

His fingers itch for the smooth keys of his laptop, but to add insult to injury, his brain spits out code in stops and starts and his exhaustion prevents him from going anywhere with it.

He gives up at the end of the day and takes his phone with shaky fingers to fire out a text that takes too long to compose in his current weakened state. Then he practically drops his phone on his bedside table and collapses back into bed. Somehow or other, he blacks out and the only thing he has time to think is

 _fucking finally_.

*

He comes to with the feel of warm, dry fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead before a hand is pressed there. He keeps his eyes closed, but he’s fully aware of the weight of a body dipping his mattress slightly, and the soft _tsk_ is loud in the silence of his room. His nose is blocked again, and he almost suffocates trying to maintain an even rhythm of breathing before he gives in and sniffs, loud and wet. He hears a quiet puff of fond laughter before the fingers go back to combing through his hair.

“What have you done to yourself?” Eduardo asks, but it’s rhetorical and Mark’s only response is another pitiful, loud sniff. He feels a tissue being pressed into his hand and he takes it gratefully, blowing as hard as he can and hoping that the tissue doesn’t disintegrate in his weakened grip. He winces when he feels slimy wetness on his fingers, telling him he’s failed. He works his jaw, trying to pop his ears back into working order and it takes a couple of tries. He feels kittenishly weak and belligerent, glaring at Eduardo through now watery eyes.

Eduardo, as usual, looks perfectly put together. Mark kind of hates him.

“I brought soup,” Eduardo says, gently, and Mark grudgingly decides that he maybe doesn’t hate Eduardo after all. Eduardo helps him to sit up, but he’s got practically no strength and ends up leaning heavily against Eduardo’s side. Eduardo, to his benefit, doesn’t say a thing, just slides an arm around Mark’s waist to hold him more securely, then twists to produce a bowl of soup, steam rising from the contents. Mark tries to breathe in the smell, but ends up sniffing more snot instead, thwarted by phlegm. It figured that the day he actually wants to have real food, his sense of smell is on the fritz. Mark hates life.

“I hate life,” Mark says out loud, but because of his stuffed nose and raw throat, it comes out more like _I hade lyfe_. Eduardo chuckles and Mark can feel it buzzing against his side, and lets his face fall against Eduardo’s neck. He has to breathe through his mouth and he can sort of taste the bitterness of Eduardo’s cologne in the back of his throat. And for some reason, Mark can smell it, the thought of the cologne trigging the memory of it. Eduardo always smells warm, a hint of dark musk and something that reminds Mark of the way his sheets smell after his mom hangs them out to dry in the sun. It’s a comforting smell and it comforts Mark now, even though he can’t _technically_ smell it. It makes him bury his face against Eduardo’s skin and breathe in as deeply as he can, ignoring the unpleasant bitter in his mouth.

“You have to eat, Mark.” Eduardo nudges him slightly, but his voice is still fond, tinged with concern. “Then take some meds, okay?”

“Can’t,” Mark protests, and he’s well aware that his tone is bordering on whiny. “Too tired.”

Eduardo huffs out another laugh before he manhandles Mark into position. Mark blinks when he finds himself pressed back into Eduardo’s chest, but to the side. Eduardo has somehow balanced the bowl between their legs and he’s carefully bringing the spoon up to Mark’s mouth. Mark stares at the spoon, then at Eduardo, but obediently opens his mouth with a mental shrug when Eduardo rolls his eyes. They sit in relative silence, the only sounds being the clink of the spoon against the bowl, punctuated by occasional sniffles from Mark. It takes longer than it should because Eduardo has to pause frequently to let Mark sniff back phlegm, otherwise suffocate. Finally, though, he’s done and Eduardo practically force feeds him his medication and by that point, Mark’s eyes and head are heavy with lethargy.

Eduardo clears his bed and helps him to lie down, tucking him in like a child and Mark can’t even bring himself to feel resentful about it because he’s warm and his hunger is sated and he’s drowsy and comfortable for the first time in what feels like forever. Eduardo brushing his hair away from his face, before pressing his fingertips lightly against Mark’s cheek.

“Rest up,” Eduardo says, gently and Mark nods, eyes slipping closed. He’s got his own fingers wrapped around Eduardo’s wrist, though, and he tightens his grip when he feels Eduardo trying to tug away. Eduardo laughs quietly, again. “Mark, let go, you need to sleep.”

“Stay,” Mark mumbles thickly and feels Eduardo still under his hand. “Please,” he adds, belatedly. His eyes are almost fully shut, but he still catches a glimpse of Eduardo’s face, softening, smile soft and warm. He cups Mark’s cheek and this time Mark leans into it, like a cat. Eduardo’s fingers curl slightly, a careful, feather-light stroke.

“Okay,” he says, finally, and Mark makes a satisfied noise and finally lets himself drift to sleep.


End file.
